Author: poetryfest

Performed by Allan Michael Brunet

—-

Before I read Lorca
My words were blunt swords for
Slicing rotted wood
Constructing
Rackety trellises
To fortify
Pathetic castles of sand
Praying never the waves
Or even harsh winds
Ascend to my feeble heights
Where from above with disdain
Cupid mocked
My juvenile sonnets of adoration
Before I read Lorca
My muses imploded
Like small delicate fish
Swimming in a shallow stream
Scatter
As a rude rock rapes
Their calm tranquil waters
Before I read Lorca
I had never truly lived

Performed by Allan Michael Brunet

(Bhagwan is God! or O God!)

As I passed a lonely temple in the after-evening glow,
On the banks of the Ganges where the quiet waters flow,
When the sun had sunk to rest and cool softness touched the air,
I saw a dark-skinned Indian and I heard him chant this prayer:

Bhagwan! Bhagwan!
You snatched away my lantern,
I’m left without a light,
My feet now tread in darkness,
Where once it all was bright.
Can I endure my life
When my dear, dear wife
Is ashes, Bhagwan?
Bhagwan! Bhagwan!

He raised his hands to heaven then he bowed down to the ground,
He wept in aching sorrow with no whisper of a sound;
I heard the water lapping where the river met the sands;
He rose from off the flagstones and again stretched forth his hands.

Bhagwan! Bhagwan!
You have snatched away my lantern,
My light of life is gone,
My heart will be in darkness
Where once she brightly shone.
Can I endure my life
When my dear, dear wife
Is ashes, Bhagwan?
Bhagwan! Bhagwan!

My heart brimmed bitter sadness as I left the temple shrine,
The pain of that poor Indian was now soul-wedged into mine.
And still do I remember, though the years have passed me by,
The hands outstretched to heaven and the anguish in that cry:

Bhagwan! Bhagwan!

Morning programs for young children are quite enlightening. Squeals of delight from my granddaughter, Zoe, drew me willingly in like a magnet, one morning, overwhelmed as I was to learn what captured her interest. Over an hour we cuddled together, a special time indeed. The make-believe world she shared with me was filled to overflowing with creativity, a wonderland of learning so subtly immersive and deep. When we parted, I knew I had taken something away, tangible and yet not tangible. Nevertheless, I knew nothing counted without it; it was a treasured gift that ran so deep. Time? You might ask. Yes, would be my reply. But there was something more. A different way of seeing the world wrapped up in the love and wisdom of a six-year-old.
Thank you, sweet Zoe. I would never have written this without having spent time with you.

A group of sheep is a herd or flock;
the shepherd is never a flocker.
A volery of birds is a fleet or flight
also a pod, congregation or parcel.
While small birds’ in groups
a dissimulation is called,
a mouthful to remember indeed!
Though these words are few,
soon you’ll learn new,
to describe a flock, congregation or parcel.
A gaggle of geese look up from the ground;
while in flight a skein, a wedge of their kind take notice
of Albatross—feathered giants indeed—
in flock or rookery combined.
“Spectacular!” the geese exclaimed,
in confidence of the sighting just seen.
Until the screech from the ground
where a party of jays
made the whole thing turn upside down.
“What do jays know?” was the harsh, self-assured, raucous reply
from the murder of crows nearby.
“There’s no mystery in this!”
screeched their unison entreat,
“It just simply is.”
A committee of vultures circled the gathering
waiting for the ripe time to come down.
“Look!” alerted the fall of woodcock:
“a wake, a kettle ‘uptown.’
An exaltation of larks
drowned out the woodcocks;
while an unkindness of ravens
on their way to the barn
scared a gulp of swallows in turn.
Grouped in charms, chattering, drums or troubling
—whatever their group is called—
humming wings and twittering squeak,
the hummingbirds’ nectar reply
was to counsel the geese
and give the jays peace
the hardest wisdom to buy.
In the front of the court
a murmuration of starlings and a host of sparrows patiently sit looking on;
while a pitying of turtledoves and a rafter of turkey hope the trial will not last long.
When the learned parliament of owls finally arrived,
with white gowns all newly preened;
before they could “hoo”
a prorogue was ensued
from the charm of warbling finch.
When the bouquet of pheasant nodded support
— simply not expecting a hitch—
that’s when the ostentation of peacock
yelled “Foul play!” and called it “A BITCH!”
But,
when the owls consorted
with a sord of mallards
the tidings of magpies flew away.
Debate and rebuttal and erudite rubble
crumbled the mumble astray;
until egos did stumble
and they did fumble
apparently lost in melee.
An answer came out
—expedient no doubt—
and here’s what they had to say:
“Agreement lies far to the south…there’s simply no other way.”
Askance looks
—filled with doubts—
their dilemma chirped underway.
“Hoo, hoo-hoo, HOOH should go,
mallard or owl this day?”
“That answer is easy,”
quacked the team of ducks,
bunched up with their newly born.
A hush, like hoar-frost,
suddenly settled over
the cacophonous pod that day.
“Hmm!” said the chief owl, glaring down his nose
at the paddling of duck on the pond.
“Hoo-hoo can a bunch of ducks like you
and your brood of duckling know?”
His oppressive eyes and threatening ways
gave the ducks a stuttering blow.
Until,
a dole of doves
settled in
to defiantly stand in a row.
“Hoo, hoo-hoo, HOOH! Okay!” the chief owl yawned,
“If you must. Let’s hear what you have to say.”
A young duckling stepped forth
to firmly take hold
her bold intention precise:
“Your answer is clear! Stay here!” she exclaimed,
stamping her web-foot twice.
“But…” stumbled the owl,
trying to recover
from someone as outspoken as she:
“the… Kingdom of Penguins…
with their waddle on land and their raft in water
have wisdom greatly revered.”
“I don’t give a damn!” the duckling exclaimed
“Look around you silly old owl!”
With a paradoxical look the parliament shook,
and clearly shrugged an answer in vain;
while moans and groans as if in pain
mixed with the congregations’ disdain.
The duckling strode forth
and with her mother’s support
the duckling took center stage.
“Wait!” she cried out,
with a surprising rapport,
for someone as young as she.
With the tip of her wing, she took them all in
especially the parliament to her lee.
“The paradigm shift
is real easy to see
if only you would all listen, please.”
When the siege of herons called out their support,
the volery of birds settled down.
“Here’s my question to you,” she slowly began,
earnestly looking around.
A slight murmur arose
among all the rows
until silence reposed profound.
“How many agree ,”
she preceded her challenge,
“raise a wing if you concur,
that a flock or rockery
of Albatross in flight
is a spectacular sight to see?”
Opinions and thoughts never really sought,
the pods hesitated ever so slight.
A glance to the left,
A glance to the right,
the center led the flight.
All wings raised
—except the jays—
for what they knew was right.
The chief owl humbled,
but still shrewdly insightful,
did not let his goals go astray.
“Answers all, lie within?” He thought,
this scrupulous circumspection could pay.
His trap now laid
the duckling displayed,
scooped up so the flock could see.
His position without doubt
would now have real clout
sea to sea to sea.
Then laughter broke out
his parliament backed out
screeching pee-hoo-hoo
pee-hoo, pee-hoo at he.
When the chief owl looked down,
it was with a frown,
his white gown was all brown
below where the duckling had peed.
His plans now a shamble
by his selfish gamble
revealed by an innocent duckling like she.
When the duckling got down
she stood her ground
and the pod drew near to hear.
“Our rights are our might
—never surrender—
to someone the likes of he.
Though choices may be slender
your vote must be rendered
to ensure your destiny.”

Performed by Bill Poulin

The uninvited guest, by Alex Hai

I am an immigrant

of my own premiere .

The cinema is full

of empty whispering chairs

Covid 19 is the uninvited guest

filling all movie theaters for now

I wish I could beam a few years back

so exciting

to see people taking their seats

The mumbling and cheers

in the pockets of my jacket

i would keep my empty hands

full of expectations

watching from the comfort of my sofa

Makes me feel uncomfortable

Performed by Hannah Ehman

TRUST? No!, by Peter Borreggine

Forgiveth not, what comes thy way,
‘Tis but a speck, in the dawn of a day,
Thou must not begin to finally feel,
As if thy heart, is in a reel,

Thou pain, is wrought, deep inside I fear,
For to giveth its wrath, is not what I hear,
‘Twas the pain, that brings me here to show,
For I am a man, wrought with pain and sorrow,

I’ve come through my life, with toil and pain,
As one would not stand, out in the rain,
I’ve sought the peace, of the one who knows,
That life without hope, ’tis not life, but shows,

A life so filled with nothing but fear,
That where my feet tread, was not with care,
But there in my mind, was a spark of hope,
To see with your eyes, a path from the slope,

A walk I must, through the swords and rock,
Through, death and stench and things with pock,
To bring myself out, and forward I thrust,
To break through the gates to one that I trust,

For there is my hope, my peace I seek,
That strengthens my heart, from whence it was weak,
Since the Journey’s has not come to an end,
But rather a start, now I walk with a friend.

Performed by Hannah Ehman

hungover. by Rachel Spell

her childhood tastes like whiskey
on virgin youthful tongue;
liquid fire scalding her soul
since she was still young.

her past tastes like rum,
like everything she knew
that was painful and scary
was comforting her too.

her love tastes like wine
poured out rich and red,
into a fragile crystal glass,
refills ’til it goes to her head.

her flaws taste like tequila,
every shot a new mistake.
she saturates her heart.
if it drowns, it can’t break.

her dreams taste like gin,
mixed with tonic and desire.
that familiar flavor of longing,
down her throat like fire.

her secrets taste like beer,
a light brew of her choice.
her friends hear nothing off
in the sadness of her voice.

her life tastes like vodka.
in order to mask the burn,
there is sugar on the rim
but bitter truth she will learn.

Performed by Hannah Ehman

A Sleepless Reverie by Rebecca Wason

‘Won’t you stay a little longer?’
Sighed the moon to the night sky.
We have barely started our talk
And I have a thousand things to say
Of life and poppycock.

‘Oh, but it is forbidden’,
Replied the night to the moon.
We have talked enough and dawn beckons
I must go now or else the world will awaken.

‘Won’t you stay a little longer?’
Sighed the moon to the night sky.
I dreamed thro’ the day of stories and fancies
And I have to tell you of silver fields and flowering, white pansies.

‘Oh, but it is forbidden’,
Replied the night to the moon.
We have talked of your stories and fancies
But it’s late now to go on about flowering, white pansies.

‘Won’t you stay a little longer?’
Sighed the moon to the night sky.
I have a thousand dew tears to weep
And I need you to numb the pain and make my dead heart leap.

‘Oh, but it is forbidden’,
Replied the night to the moon.
I have seen your dew tears and had my say
They don’t grieve me and that’s just my way.

‘Won’t you stay a little longer?’
Sighed the moon to the night sky.
I know you’ll never be mine and I won’t try to keep you
But let’s simply play at make believe and drink together of love’s brew.

‘Oh, but it is forbidden’,
Replied the night to the moon.
You know I’ll never be yours and you should not try to keep me
I belong to the dawn and this reverie can never, ever be.

©Rebecca Wason Poetry

Performed by Hannah Ehman

Before After Always, by Eugene Butler

Before what?
Birth…Breath…Discovery…
Love…Loss…Joy…
Pain…Awareness…Memory
Regret…Tears…Laughter
Death?
And after?
Believe the Buddhist
Believe the Christian
Believe the Muslim
Believe the Jew
Believe the Atheist
One is the other…The other is one
Unproven…Faith…Belief…
Trust…Expectation…Hope…
Failure…Success…Hype…
Arrogance…Humility…Fantasy…
Before After Before?
Maybe…Maybe not…I was born
Maybe…Maybe not…I will die
If I do…I would very much like to come back
And try it again

Performed by Hannah Ehman

FRAGMENTS, by Donna Greenberg

I forgot how you tasted
The day your ship left my shore,
Only the rage of the waves
Reminds me.

I waited with arms wide-spread,
Legs tingling,
The imprint of your touch
Still longing…

Even the strong wind
That tore my heart
From my skin,
Could not bring you back.

Sands blistered by the sun,
If only you had remembered
How green spring rains
Bring flowers.

If in dreams
You do not appear,
Your shadow falls
On the wall
When waking.

The horizon, now tinted green,
Almost sunset,
Still
A flower may bloom.

Performed by Hannah Ehman

Love your Curves, by Jesus T. Solis

Gives me the words,
To speak of,
That Sensual love,
To be made,
I’m not afraid,
Take you by the hips,
And kiss you on lips,

Your woman I’m into,
To dance with you,
To twirl in lust,
Our bodies will thrust,
Upon each other,
To become one another,

Love your Curves,
Gives me the words,
To speak of,
That Sensual love,
To be made,
I’m not afraid,
Take you by the hips,
And kiss you on lips,

One single body,
To embody,
To be that expression,
Of hot passion,
Into each other we dive,
To live alive,

Love your Curves,
Gives me the words,
To speak of,
That Sensual love,
To be made,
I’m not afraid,
Take you by the hips,
And kiss you on lips,

I gab your body by the waist,
Every touch and taste,
With every push and give,
Our life to live,
We’ll make legends of,
Story of our love,

Love your Curves,
Gives me the words,
To speak of,
That Sensual love,
To be made,
I’m not afraid,
Take you by the hips,
And kiss you on lips.